


Goodbye Isn't Forever

by evila_elf



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evila_elf/pseuds/evila_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What will Hawkeye give up to be with the one he loves? (Second Person)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye Isn't Forever

(Originally posted to Livejournal on 9/8/2004)

 

It is over. The war is over...IT’S OVER!!

 

Isn’t this what you wanted for what seemed like decades? Now that the time has come, you feel numb, you just can’t believe it!

 

The tents were cleaned out and torn down. Only empty skeletons remained standing, like tall markers for a graveyard. MASH 4077 had disbanded, it’s ‘citizens’ scattered; except for you and a select few who stayed to see it packed and torn to the ground. You blink, thinking that with a pass of your eyelids everything would be restored to its former glory, it’s former mess…home.

 

Margaret, Charles, The Padre, Klinger, Potter, Radar, Trapper, Henry, and even Frank you miss…even the ones who left early, or before their time. And BJ. He left just yesterday. Back to his family that he spent a whole lot of time missing.

 

You take one last look around the camp before clambering up into a jeep…away from the former MASH station, away from Korea, away from that patch of land known as Asia.

 

_This is our last goodbye_

_I hate to see the love between us die_

_But it’s over_

Just hear this and then I’ll go

_You gave me more to live for_

_More than you’ll ever know_

 

Home. You watch from the window as the plane lands and you wonder why home looks like the place that is foreign.

 

In the chaos, you had managed to notify your father and he was waiting when you arrived stateside. A crushing hug and some sobbed words were exchanged before a cab was hailed.  He wanted to talk, and talk he did, and you found yourself watching the scenery pass by, still not sure if it was all a strange dream, or an even stranger nightmare.

 

The talking continues and you force yourself to listen. It is gossip really, about things, places, and people that seem so insignificant compared to…compared to what you…what everyone went through. You nod at the right points and insert comments where they are due.

 

The house, your home. It seems cozy and inviting. Then why is your heart racing? threatening to break? It doesn’t belong here anymore. Will it ever?

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

 

Dinner.

 

Is this what real food looks and smells like? It is a simple meal that seems like a gourmet feast…a gourmet feast that is too grand for your taste buds. You eat it anyway, your dad beaming at you, his son, who has returned…alive from a war.

 

A strange look from your father, a comment about “when mashed potatoes attack,” and you look up from your food-staring contest. No reason for two people to be depressed, so you plaster on a smile that does not quite reach your eyes. Then, with next to any prompting, you are off talking about all those wonderful years that were taken from you. The jokes and friendships, the death and heartache, the joys and sorrows…Your food lay quite forgotten and you talked well into the night, quitting only when you were tucked in and kissed goodnight.

 

It was late, the bed was too soft. You groan in frustration and move yourself and a blanket to the floor.

 

Awake seemingly an instant later from a dreamless sleep, the sun shining through an unfamiliar window into an unfamiliar room. You sit up and look more carefully around at your surroundings, but your eyes finally strayed to your trunk—the chest that had been by your bed for a long time over in Korea. With shaking hands and tousled hair that give you a desperate appearance, you slide the latch and open it. The heavy lid groans it’s protest and from it’s years of abuse. You were hit by the familiar sent of Korea, like a part of it had been locked away in that chest…saved for when you returned home. But what was home?

 

A whole life had been crudely packed into the trunk. Crude, just like the living conditions, like the war. You shuffle through it, and pause to look through a small stack of pictures that were tucked sideways, hiding from the small light. A painting that Potter made of you lounging in his chair with a dry martini in your hand that was raised in a mock toast toward the painter is the first picture to stare back at you. A few group photos, several embarrassing ones of Frank or Charles that would have some in handy for blackmailing, but were sadly never needed follows your old army fatigues that were maybe worn once or twice in their lifetime and had only been folded once—when they were first made…

 

You hear your dogtags rattling towards the bottom, and are still surprised, not for the first time, that the army never wanted them back to reuse for the next war. You pull them out from where they are cradled next to some socks that had missed a month of washings. Never had you been without them (the tags), day, night, or shower. You quickly dump them back before you put them on…wanting to feel the light weight and hear soft jungle of them as you walk…

 

You hear your dad’s soft footfalls nearing the door and hurry to shut the trunk and sit on it…then wonder what you are doing; acting like a child about to be caught in the middle of planning a famous prank. The thought brings a ghost of a smile to your lips.

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

The next few days feel like an implosion ready to happen. Plans are being made around you for you to join your father’s private practice. Talking—talking would make things better, but you are alone…even though your father is always close by.

 

Your first chance for a break in the endless preparations and you find a phone in your hands and you wonder how it had jumped there. A small eternity later and it is ringing to someplace across the states—someplace in California.

 

“Peg?” A pang of jealousy for something you didn’t have. “Is BJ there?” You manage to hear him over your loudly thumping heart. “It’s Hawkeye.”

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

You must have sounded down in the dumps. BJ—best friend, fellow prankster, and something more—had invited himself over, and you had agreed. His own private practice was slowly coming along, and he could use a vacation, or so he said.

 

Your dad’s eyebrows went the way of his hairline at the news. “No spare room for guests?” you had repeated his words. “He can stay in my room. Better yet in my bed. I never use it.” Problem solved…or was another one just created?

 

Evident in every bounce, smile, and joke was your joy. You felt like the day after tomorrow would never come. Well, it never would, but the Saturday of BJ’s arrival soon would. Your dad notices the change in your mood. You, however, don’t notice his smile evaporating every time you leave a room. He knew, even if you didn’t yet. And the thought angered him…he feared he was right and hoped he was wrong.

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

 

The day has arrived!! You borrow your dad’s car and drive down to the airport. Then you pace for the hour until the plane is due to arrive, and then the extra 15 minutes that it is late.

 

The passengers slowly--too slowly--file out of the plane and, naturally, BJ is the last one off. He quickly drops his luggage when you leap to hug him.

 

“Down, Hawkeye, people are staring,” he jokes.

 

“Ah, they’re just jealous! The small animal decide to crawl off your lip?”

 

“Yeah. Peg made me kill it.”

 

On the way home, you are content to just listen to BJ talk. He speaks of the small clinic he plans to open and the hospital he is working at until then. When he asks about your business, you tell him that soon you will be joining your father’s practice. You are not thrilled at that, and it must show.

 

A unanimous decision is made to get a light lunch and you pull over at the nearest restaurant. BJ tucks into his food for a few minutes, then looks up at you. “Waiting for your food to rot?” he asks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

That response threw him. “What?”

 

“Not hungry.”

 

 “Why’d you order?”

 

“Haven’t been hungry since I returned stateside.”

 

“You _have_ eaten since then?”

 

You nod. “I think that the war has blown my tastebuds all to Hell.”

 

BJ grabs a pen from his shirt pocket and snatches your unused napkin, then scribbles something on it. “As your personal physician, I prescribe you to eat—at least—two meals a day, heavy on the snacks,” he announces proudly, handing the napkin back to you, his neat script scrawled across it.

 

“Right now the napkin seems more delicious.”

 

“Then take three napkins and call me in the morning.”

 

You sigh. “Maybe I will be ‘in the mood’ later.”

 

BJ looks up sharply---was that a double meaning he heard?

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

A note was waiting on the kitchen counter:

 

“ _Hawkeye and BJ_ ;”

 

You look over your shoulder to find BJ reading along _._

_“I had to go perform an emergency surgery. Should be home by 5._

_Love, Dad”_

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

Talk. All you want to do is talk. BJ lets you ramble on, adding comments of his own. It starts to feel like old times…almost.

 

An hour and a pause for breath later, you ask if he would like a beer.

 

“Naw,” he replies. “Haven’t touched a drop since Korea. You?”

 

“Not a drop.”

 

“Maybe you could use one?”

 

Your lowered head darts up. BJ is sincere, not mocking, and you relax again.

 

It takes another hour before you ask the question that is most on your mind. “Beej, do you miss it?”

 

“It? If by ‘it’ you are referring to the wounded, bombs, Korea, then I don’t miss those one bit. If by ‘it’ you mean the people? Then I miss them every day.”

 

Your mouth had run dry, as well as the well of words that are normally so eager to pour from it.

 

“Hawk. I wouldn’t mind a beer now, if you want one.”

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

 

At 5:30, Daniel Pierce returns home to the wonderful sound of laughter. Oh, how he had missed that music. He enters the kitchen and soon his laugher joins in.

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

Dinner consists of Chinese take out. Your appetite makes a brief appearance before it makes a hasty retreat. BJ and your dad have joined forces to get you to eat. Instead, you sidetrack them with an old story of Frank and Margaret that neither had heard before.

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

“I feel weird about getting the bed while you sleep on the floor.”

 

“You are welcome to sleep on the floor, but I am not moving.”

 

“Suit yourself.” BJ shrugs.

 

“Night, Beej.”

 

“Night, Hawk.”

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

Blood everywhere, so much you could swim in it. Kids…little boys holding out limbs beyond repair and begging for them to be fixed. “Please fix me better.” You saw yourself. Unable to help, unable to move. You were drowning, drowning in the blood. Surrounded. Suffering. Your own blood pounding in your ears…Your name being said over and over, echoing…

 

“Hawk? Hawkeye, wake up!”

 

Disorientation greets you. Which version is real? The endless blood, or Beej leaning over you with concern etched on his face? “Is it morning?” you ask when your ability of speech returns.

 

“Barely midnight.”

 

“Damn. I’ve only been asleep two hours?”

 

“This happen often?”

 

“Yeah.” More times than you would like to admit.

 

He can tell that you are troubled, upset, and scared out of your mind.  He lies down beside you. “Care to talk about it?”

 

You shake your head, but start to talk anyway. “They are innocent, all innocent…too many to save. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to run as far away from them as I could…”

 

“It’s a dream. Dreams aren’t supposed to make sense.”

 

“I wanted to run! What kind of doctor would run from his patients? From children who need help?! They were so young, less than 10….so many of them. I was the only one who could help and I didn’t—wouldn’t—couldn’t—too many.” You are babbling. Your body too numb to feel BJ rubbing your arm, trying his best to calm you down, to bring back the present.

 

“Come back to me, Hawk.” He is afraid you will have a breakdown any minute--you are talking like it is the end of the world. So he does something that he swore he would never do again, and you swore back—he silences your lips with his own. And he gets the surprise of his life when you kiss back.

 

Unable to speak, lips still locked together, you watch him. Slowly, he opens his eyes and looks back. He finally releases your lips and tries to make a fast retreat back to the bed. He doesn’t get very far before he finds your hands wrapped around his arm and your leg across his--it would take an act of God to make you let go. Then you shock him again by bursting into giggles. “Am I that bad?” he asks.

 

“You should see the look on your face!” You bury your face into a pillow to muffle the laughter.

 

“Um, this situation is getting uncomfortable, Hawk.”

 

“I doubt the situation is the problem, well maybe a part of it. I think the thing that is uncomfortable at the moment are your pants.” You break into giggles as BJ looks down. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

 

Silence.

 

“Oh, stop pouting.” You look over at him, your gloomy mood finally forgotten. You smirk and lean your head against his chest.

 

“You’re not helping! Stop laughing, will ya?”

 

“Thanks, Beej.” You circle a hand on his stomach.

 

“For?”

 

“Cheering me up.”

 

“Good, now stop rubbing me before I have to attack you!”

 

“Bad threat.” You remove your hand anyway.

 

BJ again starts to get up. He pauses and asks a simple question; “Kiss goodnight?”

 

You both know the offer behind those two words. You nod, unable to speak, and BJ settles back down next to you. “So much for your ‘problem.’” Your voice is husky as he brings his lips back down to yours, the contact making you both shiver with nothing resembling a chill.

 

Finally you break away from the kiss. “Beej, this is wrong on so many levels.” You kiss him again. “Please don’t stop.”

 

The kissing turns to groping. Shirts are removed, followed by everything else. Thought starts to fail you…all that seems important is touching and kissing—receiving and giving…

 

“Hawk?”

 

“Mmmm?” Words seem impossible to form, even from the master.

 

“How far do you want to go?”

 

“As far as you want to,” you answer after a few moments to catch your breath.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Trying to change my mind?”

 

“Never.”

 

You enjoy the touch of BJ on your skin, his kisses, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and out. The night was slowly being eaten away…

 

Sometime later, both of you near sleep, you ask, “Why?”

 

“Why?” he questions your question.

 

“Why now, why before?”

 

“I don think I c’n answer that. Why is the moon round and the sun full of gas?” His mumbles trail off.

 

You have to smile at him; he is already asleep, his chest rising and falling in a comfortable rhythm. You wonder if he will remember what he said in the morning. With a contented smile you curl up against him and fall asleep.

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

BJ opens his eyes and looks down at the man draped over him. Just like before, this is something that can never last. A sad smile and he closes his eyes.

 

~.~*,’,*~.~

 

“Benjamin Pierce!”

 

The yell startles you from a dreamless sleep. With a sinking feeling, you remove your head from the shoulder it lay against and look towards the door at your furious father. Without a word he turns and exits the doorway.

 

“Dad!” you call out and disentangle yourself from a groggy BJ. You retrieve your pants from where they were flung over the footlocker and you trip several times in your haste to put them on. Then you run off in pursuit of your father. He is in the kitchen sitting at the dinning table, his back to the door. “Dad?”

 

No response.

 

“Dad, listen to me!”

 

He spins around so fast he is a brief blur. His eyes are cold and hard. Now that you have his undivided attention, words fail you. Would have made a great laugh for you, the well of words, to be made speechless. Nothing seems funny now.

 

“So, that was your ‘pal’ from Korea.”

 

“Nothing happened between us in Korea.” You think that the shared kiss before you left for home is irrelevant.

 

“Just like nothing happened last night? Do you even know what day it is?”

 

“The 22nd?” you say, confused.

 

“Sunday.”

 

The force and anger behind the word gives you a cold chill up your spine. The day of the week makes little matter to you, but to your father—“Please tell me that this is the only reason you are angry.”

 

“Angry is inadequate for my feelings at the moment.”

 

BJ stands at the kitchen’s entrance. You didn’t need to look to know he is there. “I think I’ll be leaving now--”

 

“You damn well are!”

 

BJ turns on his heel and disappears from your sight. You are torn.  Since your dad is ignoring you, you run after your friend. He is just hanging up the hall phone and motions you into your room. “I’m sorry, Beej,” you begin as soon as you can get the door closed.

 

He silences you with a finger across your trembling lips. “Don’t apologize. It was just as much my fault.” He runs a hand through his hair, which is still on end from sleep. “My new flight leaves in 4 hours. Going to get packed and call a cab. Your father doesn’t happen to have a shot gun, does he?”

 

You dismiss his question. “Cab? I’ll drive you.”

 

“I don’t think that is a good idea, Hawk.”

 

“I don’t care.” You shake your head urgently. “I’ll go talk to Dad about borrowing the car.”

 

BJ reaches out and grabs your arm as you turn to leave. The look in his eyes makes you want to melt. “In case he does have a shotgun,” you say, “goodbye, Beej.” You lean in a kiss him, knowing that you will never get a chance alone with him again.

 

_Kiss me, please kiss me_

_But kiss me out of desire, babe, and not consolation_

_You know it makes me so angry ‘cause I know that in time_

_I’ll only make you cry, this is our last goodbye_

 

 

Since your dad still refuses to talk to you, borrowing the car is no problem. On the way to the airport, you try to cram a whole day’s worth of talking into the half hour. You ask about when his new house will be built, and about his wife and kid several times.

 

Finally BJ silences your endless questions. “You can call me anytime you want to talk to me. And there can be letters, too. It’s not like this will be the last time we see and get to talk to each other.”

 

The drive to the airport is over. You follow BJ inside, your mood dark. You ask him if he wants some company while he waits the several hours for his flight.

 

“Not a good idea, Hawk,” he replies, shaking his head sadly.

 

“I don’t care,” you shoot back.

 

BJ sighs long and loud. “I really hope I didn’t screw things up between you and your dad.”

 

“Do you wish it never happened?” you ask, sitting down on a bench and motioning for BJ to join you.

 

All he had to do was take one look into your eyes to make up his mind. “No. In fact, I would do it all over again, with one exception.”

 

“What?”

 

“I would make sure that we were never caught.”

 

“Sounds like a good exception.”

 

The silence was like a suffocating blanket. Not able to stand any more of it, you get to your feet. “I’d better get back,” and you hold out your hand.

 

BJ uses the hand to get to his feet and pull you into a massive hug.

 

“Ooh, what will all the ladies think?” A/N (On my handwritten copy, it looks like I wrote laddies 0.0)  
  


“That I am saying goodbye to my best friend….’Bye, Hawk.”

 

“Bye, Beej.” You close your eyes, trying to keep the tears in check.

 

_This is our last embrace_

_Must I dream and always see your face…._

 

You look up from the dinner plate. Silence. Everywhere there is silence. Just when you find a reason to laugh again, it is taken away. Daniel Pierce, your father, politely ignores you from across the table. The idea strikes to pretend to choke to death, try to see if he still cares for his son. So tempting, but you couldn’t bear the chance that he might just sit there and watch.

 

_Why can’t we overcome this wall_

_Well, maybe it’s just because I didn’t know you at all_

 

Briefly you had wondered if you were going to go into practice with your father. Now you realize that you could care less. Why be subjected to more Hell?

 

The days drag by and blend with one another. Your father had started talking again to you, but his dialogue was stiff and formal, like talking to a stranger instead of a son. ‘ _Get on with your life_!’ a voice kept saying to you. But how can you when you have already forgotten how?

 

A letter, a call, you wait for something, something that you know won’t come. Correspondence _did_ work both ways, but you have no idea what you would say to him, and feel that he has the same problem.

 

_Did you say no this can’t happen to me?_

_And did you rush to the phone to call_

_Was there a voice unkind, in the back of your mind_

_Saying maybe you don’t know him at all…_

 

Laying in bed alone, a tear slides down your cheek.

 

_Maybe you don’t know him at all…._

 

That morning, you came to a decision!

 

A brief note was written, a few bags were packed, and no good-byes said, or regrets felt…


End file.
